The Long Road
by piperholmes
Summary: 3X04 AU. What if when Sybil arrived at Downton after fleeing Ireland things had gone a bit differently? What if she walked into the long hall and found no one to greet her? How would the Bransons' story have changed? Inspired by Repmet.
1. Chapter 1

**The Long Road**

**By: piperholmes**

**A/N: This AU is born from remet's meta on episode 3X04 when Sybil and Tom hug. Go find her on Tumblr if you haven't already. You won't regret it. But what if Sybil had shown up at Downton and things had gone a little differently?**

**Unbeta'd. **

* * *

It was the quiet that surprised her.

In a house that always seemed to be bustling, that made it impossible to feel as if one could take a breath of air without the watchful gaze of a servant or family member or friend or villager, something needed dusting or the Earl's approval or Lady Grantham's input.

"_Sybil!"_

_The harsh whisper sent a shiver down her body, her grip on her umbrella tightening._

"_Tom?"_

_He shook his head, his finger to his lips as he slipped further into the alley behind their flat._

_She worked to keep her eyes still, resisting the urge to glance about her, the muscles in her back tightening as she feared who might be bearing down on her. They had discussed this, had prepared. She had to remain calm._

Sybil was uncertain what to make of the stillness that greeted her as she pushed through the front door. She knew no one knew exactly when she'd arrive, which is why she hadn't been disappointed to find no car waiting for her at the train station, opting to catch a ride with a lorry that was headed to the estate, but she had at least supposed someone would have been looking out for her to come up the long graveled road to the door and welcome her home, even if they were upset with her.

_The rain continued to beat down on them as she stepped into a deep puddle, following him further into the shadows. She lost sight of him just before she felt strong hands grab her arms._

"_In here."_

_He smelled of smoke. The stale stench burned her nose as they huddled in the tiny crook between buildings._

"_Tom?"_

_He was tired, as tired as her own eyes felt as she'd stayed up waiting for him even though he'd told her not to._

"_We have to go. I'm sorry. They're looking for me and if they find me…"_

"_I know," she interrupted quickly, unable to think of the outcome. She didn't know exactly what had happened but she knew enough that it ultimately didn't matter. If someone decided you were a rebel that was it, there need be no proof or evidence. Tom had a dangerous job; telling the truth. _

"_We'll do exactly as we've discussed," she continued. "You go, get on the boat. I'll meet you."_

"_Sybil I don't know if I can. If they come to you—"_

"_No," She bit in again. "We stick to the plan. Don't you underestimate me Tom Branson."_

_Despite the panic in his eyes, the regret, he smiled at her. Without a word he pulled her to him, his lips crashing against hers._

_Somewhere a bell clanged loudly and Tom jerked away. He grabbed a wad of money from his pocket and shoved it into her hand._

"_I've enough for the boat," he assured her, cutting off her response. "Do what you have to do, just please…be safe."_

_She nodded, unable to think more than a few moments ahead. Their life was about to change drastically but it's what she had signed up for, what she believed in. _

"_I love you," she breathed._

_His face grew solemn. "I love you, so very much. I'm so sorry—"_

_She wrapped her arms around him, their hearts pounding against each other. _

"_I'll see you at Downton."_

"_See you at Downton."_

_The promise had been made. _

She had spent the many sleepless hours of the harrowing night preparing herself, trying to imagine each possible response she'd receive from her family, to mentally strengthen her emotional reserves. She felt vulnerable, exhausted, raw and a little sick. It seemed her pregnant body would never handle the boat ride over very well. She felt the baby squirm, shift, trying to rest in an ever limiting space. Her hand graced over the growing bump.

'I know little one,'she thought. 'You need room to grow, but stay put a little longer my darling.'

Right now she didn't care how her family would react, what they would shout at her, the whispers, the loss she felt at fleeing her home. All she cared about right now was seeing Tom. She could collapse into his arms and he wouldn't think less of her. She could cry for her loss and he wouldn't judge her. She could show pain and heartache and he wouldn't throw it back in her face. She needed the safety of him.

"Hello?" she called out, her voice soft, hesitant. She shook her head and tried again, this time with more force, trying to keep her growing irritation from taking over. She felt perilously close to tears and an irrational anger at Tom, the unexplainable kind of anger that stemmed from her overextended, exhausted body, angry that wasn't tearing the carpet up in an effort to get to her. If she could only see him her heart would quit racing and her body could welcome the blessed relief of forgiveness.

"Can I help you?"

Sybil jumped as Carson's booming voice sounded behind her. She turned, noting the way the butler's face paled, his eyes widening, his shoulders straightening as his fingers danced against his palm's before tightly fisting.

"I beg your pardon Lady Sybil," he began gravely. "I'm afraid I was unaware you'd be visiting today."

Sybil blinked, her skin feeling suddenly coated in sand, cold, tingling, rough, as Carson's words echoed around her.

"No," she breathed, though she couldn't be sure she made any sound. Carson didn't know she was coming.

_She'd risked a phone call. _

_Her eyes darted about, waiting, watching, expecting loud boots to march towards her, a deadly tattoo of sound. _

_She knew she shouldn't have, but she had to let them know she was alright. She feared what they would do to Tom, but if they knew she was alright, that she was on her way, perhaps his execution would be stayed. _

_She felt light headed, wishing her stomach would relax. The rolling and kicking of the baby made her even more jumpy. Her back hurt and there was a steady pulse of pain behind her eyes. If only she hadn't missed the last boat. She loathed the idea of sitting up all night on the hard benches at the station but she had no choice if she wanted a roof over her head. _

_Already she missed their pokey cold flat and lumpy bed._

_Their home._

"Sybil?"

The confusion in Mary's voice nearly brought tears to her eyes. As the two sisters stared at each other a lifetime of regret and concern surrounded them, painting the world in gray.

"Thank you Carson," Mary said simply, taking charge. "If you'll have Lady Sybil's room prepared and her bags sent up. Oh and tea sent to the library please."

"Of course m'lady."

The women stood silent as they watched the older man bow and leave.

"What's happened?" Mary rushed out, her hand coming to grip Sybil's arm. "After your strange phone call last night—"

"Mary, please, where's Tom?" Sybil interrupted, no longer able to contain her fear.

Mary's thin eyebrows arched in surprise. "Sybil—"

"Please, Mary, please tell me Tom is here."

"Here? My darling I don't understand. Did Tom not arrive with you?"

Sybil's heart raced as the words clogged her throat, her stomach turning. "We had a plan. He was to come here while I closed the flat. He should be here. He should've been here hours ago."

"Closed the flat?" Mary tried again, her frustration growing. "Sybil, darling, you're not making any sense. What plan? Where's Tom?"

She couldn't keep her eyes from watering, couldn't keep her body still as her hands began to shake, a pressure building in her chest.

"Sybil, come here," Mary commanded, Sybil's pale cheeks and frantic eyes turning her body cold. "Come sit down."

Sybil allowed Mary to lead her a few steps before wrenching away suddenly. "No, no, I can't stay. I have to…I have to go back."

Mary stared at her in shock. "Go back? Sybil you've only just arrived."

"You don't understand," Sybil snapped, swiping at her eyes, angered by her body's betrayal. "We agreed we would meet here. He was to arrive first…" Her stomach burned, bile scorching her throat.

_She kicked at the two bags she'd stuffed under her seat; clothes mostly. Clothes for him, clothes for her, and a few things, what little they had collected, for the baby, but there wasn't much else she'd been able to bring. _

_The night stretched on and Sybil's cotton eyes begged for release, to close, but images of Tom's terrified eyes mocked her as stories of other less fortunate souls plagued her mind. She knew men who had been arrested. She knew women who were still looking for their husbands. She knew babies who would grow up fatherless._

_She had tried to listen to people, tried to see if anyone had been arrested trying to get on the boat but he'd either made it safely or people were too scared to speak of it. _

"_Please keep him safe," she prayed. She believed in God, but wasn't sure what His role was in all this, but for Tom she'd plead for help, from anyone._

_Every sound had her on edge, convinced they'd known she lied about her name, that any moment they'd arrest her, but even that wasn't what scared her the most._

_She knew even if they found her she was still the daughter of an English peer. A year in Ireland didn't erase her heritage. Her father knew people, powerful people, and despite all that had angered him she couldn't believe, couldn't accept that he would abandon her or his first grandchild. _

_But who did Tom have?_

_There was no guarantee that her father would help her husband. _

_Her biggest fear, the one that sent a chill through her body, that clenched her heart with dread, that broke through her well-constructed mask of English pride, was that they found him._

_If they found him, he could be lost to her forever._

"_Please, please, let him get to Downton safely."_

"Oh Mary something's happened. Something's gone wrong…terribly wrong."

And that was all Sybil could offer before bending towards the nearest vase and becoming violently ill.

**Thanks for reading!**

**I'm thinking about adding a few chapters to this. Nothing big since I have enough stories to finish as it is, but if people are interested then I'd be willing to follow this story about a bit.**


	2. Chapter 2

**The Long Road**

**Part 2**

**A/N: Wow! Thank you for the reviews and encouragement! It spurned me forward with this story. I admit I am nervous about this chapter. I put a lot on the page and that always makes me worry about how it'll be received, but I hope it works. Unbeta'd.**

* * *

Robert Crawley, the current Earl of Grantham, hated Ireland

Perhaps hate was too strong. He didn't have a deep history with the island, at least not personally, but he'd never much enjoyed the trips over; the country, the smell, the air, the religion. He supposed it had some to recommend itself. There was a beauty to the land, he was willing to concede, but it felt too wild for his taste.

Too dangerous.

And now, now he had a grandchild ready to enter the world who'd been conceived under the Irish moon. He had a son-in-law whose accent had sent smirks across the dining table at Downton. He had a daughter who had defected to this strip of land that so many were willing to lose their lives over.

Here he stood, in the never ending damp, the Earl of Grantham, his boots caked with mud, his coat heavy with rain, standing outside Mountjoy Prison, waiting to walk through its cast iron gates.

No, he hated Ireland.

But he loved his daughter.

He glanced sideways at his heir, his more reputable son-in-law, as Matthew shook his head, a cursing falling from his lips.

"What a place."

Robert said nothing, uncertain his lack of sympathy would be well met.

"I'm not sure whether to hope he's here or not," Matthew continued, unaware of his father-in-law's inner musing.

At this Robert did respond, feelings of frustration snapping tightly. "For Sybil's sake I hope he is."

He expected the gray clouds overhead to empty their watery burden upon their heads at any moment, but that seemed the way of things here. There was always a storm brewing, always the threat hanging in the air, the sunlight hidden, unable to share its warmth and light.

Robert resisted the urge to pull his hat lower on his head. If it did rain it would do no good anyway.

Finally movement caught his eye as a young man came bounding towards them.

Perhaps a young man once, the Earl thought, as he saw the harsh reality come into view; a young man whose youth had been stolen by war. The hard glint in his eyes, his left ear gone, the sneer to his lips, left Robert feeling decidedly uncomfortable.

He'd served. He knew the horrors that war left with those who survived, but the way the man looked at him, with such anger and hatred, such mockery, had Robert's own face hardening.

The man's keys jangled as he turned them, opening the large gate, and with a bow, his thick South London accent almost boasted, "Welcome to The Joy your Lordship."

* * *

_Nine Days Earlier_

Sybil gave Carson a small smile as she handed him back the empty cup, the water having cooled her scalded throat. Her mother rubbed her arm affectionately, Mary's knee pressed tightly against hers, with Edith smiling at her encouragingly, everyone waiting for the faithful servant to leave.

The loneliness of the previous night seemed a mirage of memory as she sat surrounded by her family. Though her father's steady pacing was enough to remind her that mirages encircled life at Downton.

As they all glanced about, questions burning behind their eyes, Sybil couldn't help but feel the outsider. Even Matthew seemed to fit into this life better these days than she did. She was changed, as was the natural order of things, but she had changed away from them, there was no gradual, easy acceptance. It was stark, telling, and despite their support, no one seemed able to broach the silence.

No one, but her father.

"Where is Branson?"

He'd stopped his movements, turning his pale blue eyes on her.

Sybil winced at the accusation in his voice, three words and he'd deftly announced his derision towards her husband.

"I'm not entirely sure where _Tom_ is Papa, that's the reason I'm here." She hadn't meant her tone to be so hard but she was beginning to lose the hold she had over her heart, her emotions, her mind, her body.

Lord Grantham scoffed, his arms going up in the air. "You've lost your husband?"

"Robert!" Cora snapped, her brow low as she gazed at him. "That is not helpful." She moved her arm to stroke back Sybil's errant curls. "Sybil darling, perhaps you'd best start from the beginning."

"Thank you Mama." Sybil took a deep breath, refusing to look away from the man who potentially held her husband's life in his hands. "I'm not completely clear on the details but you have to understand the nature of Tom's job—"

Her father's scoff sent a fresh wave of anger through her. Ignoring him she pressed on. "Things are volatile over there."

"And whose fault is that?" Robert charged in, no longer contented with being discounted.

"Neither side is free from blame," Sybil fought back. "Though the Irish have been given plenty of reason to want to fight for freedom at all cost."

"Robert," The Dowager chimed in, anticipating his angry rebuttal. "An argument on Irish politics will not bring us any closer to understanding what the child is doing here and where her husband is."

Sybil pressed her lips together. "Thank you Granny, though I believe some understanding of the history would better prepare you for what I am going to say, however, for the sake of time and my husband's safety I will simply tell you. He's made it no secret he wants freedom for Ireland, and he works for a paper that isn't afraid to publish propaganda and stories intent on such a purpose."

She glanced at her mother when she felt the older woman's grip on her arm tighten. For a moment, as mother to mother, she felt a heartbeat of regret. She now knew what real fear was, the fear of losing a child. The early days of pregnancy when she knew it was most likely to miscarry, how long it took to feel the baby move hoping the child still grew safely in her womb, and still the fear of childbirth when so much could go wrong and the child could be stillborn or…so many possibilities that Sybil felt keenly, even before she ever met her child.

She offered her mother all that she had, her convictions. "We knew, _I_ knew, what that could mean for him, for us. There is very little justice over there. If they ever came after Tom we had to be prepared."

"Prepared how?" Matthew asked, his face dark with concern.

"We couldn't risk him getting arrested."

"Not willing to face the consequences of his actions?" Robert interjected sharply.

"Not willing to be silenced," Sybil answered.

"The law—" Robert began but Sybil wasn't willing to play by their rules anymore. An Earl was a man like any other, his birth earned him no more merit than that of a baker, a valet, or a chauffeur, and Sybil was done pandering to his position.

"Let's ask Thomas Ashe about the power of the law shall we? Or Tom Clarke? Or Seán Heuston? But I suppose it's impossible to ask anything of a dead man."

"Sybil," Mary warned softly, kindly, but despite the connection between sisters Sybil couldn't ignore the deep separation in their understanding of the world.

"Oh Mary," Sybil said sadly, "You don't know. You haven't seen what I've seen. I don't mean to be disrespectful." Her eyes once again turned to her father. "Truly I don't. But I'm tired of fighting with you. I've lived through one war. I live in a country on the brink of another. I'm tired of fighting these battles. I've given up expecting you to understand."

Robert's jaw worked, his teeth clenched. "How can you expect me to appreciate a man who would abandon his pregnant wife in a country that is not her own?"

On this Cora agreed. "How could he have left you all alone to fend for yourself?"

"It wasn't like that. We thought this might happened and we decided what to do," Sybil insisted, despite knowing her words disappeared from her lips, unwelcomed, having no place in her parents' fully formed world. "The police were after him and we knew if they caught him he wouldn't get a fair hearing. He _had_ to get out of Ireland."

"And what has he done Sybil?" Her Granny asked, her curious eyes narrowing.

She would have to tell them. Knew this moment was coming, but she had never imagined having to do this alone.

She felt starved of air, forcing a deep breath. "I'm not clear on all the details, but Tom was there when…some property was burned."

"Property?" Edith hedged.

"She means an estate," Robert informed imperiously, as if he knew he had won. "Don't you Sybil? Your husband burned down the home of a peer. Which one?"

"He didn't burn it down; I merely said he was there when it burned."

She felt Mary's hand slip away, withdrawing. "You'd best tell us Sybil."

"Drumgoole Castle."

As soon as her declaration had been quietly made it was greeted with a gasp.

"Lady Drumgoole came out with me, she was Laura Dunsany then," Mary explained simply, carefully. Sybil could sense her control, her reserve, grateful her sister wasn't as keen to so quickly judge her husband, to judge her, so harshly.

"They have children if I remember correctly," Cora observed. "Was anyone…hurt?"

Sybil heard the hesitation, her heart breaking at the thought, breaking at how little they thought of her husband. "I don't know everything, but I do know Tom wouldn't participate in violence against women and children. He wants a free state for Ireland, but Tom isn't a killer. He isn't a violent man. Tom fights with words, not with guns."

She grabbed her mother's hand. "But don't you see? They don't care. They won't make that distinction. If, as I fear, they've arrested Tom it'll be as if he lit the match himself." And then she was a daughter again, a daughter in desperate need of the assurance of a mother's strength and comfort. "Mama, they'll kill him."

Those quiet words, spoken from her baby whose tear stained cheek, no matter how old, still called for Cora's gentle touch, were enough to obliterate all obstacles. For too long Cora had felt separated from her child. She'd been intimidated by her headstrong little girl, by the little girl who had no interest in following in her mother's footsteps, who fought every helping hand, who bucked under the traditions, who believed in a greater world than Cora had ever been able to envision. She didn't know how to help Sybil. She had wanted to help, had done what she could, but had always felt trapped between her husband and her child, unable to navigate between the old world and the new.

But in this, in this she would not fail.

"You must see the home secretary," she declared suddenly, turning to her husband.

"And tell him what?" Robert scoffed. "The police are after my Irish son-in-law, who by his wife's own admission, was present when Drumgoole castle was burned?"

"Tell him whatever you like," she insisted, feeling Sybil beginning to wilt. "You have to go to London, Robert. For Sybil's sake if not for Tom's. You have to see Mr. Short."

"I don't have to do anything!" Robert bellowed.

"Robert—" Cora tried again, but Sybil pushing to her feet silenced her.

"Papa," Her voice broke on the word. "Papa, please." Her throat clogged with desperation, the reality of what she might lose if her father refused to help. She softly approached the man she had admired, the man she loved so freely no matter how she changed, her constant devotion. Her father.

"Papa, I will get down on my knees and beg if you ask it," she committed, her voice a whisper, her eyes gleaming with tears.

Robert's shoulders fell, his own hard face softening with pity. "And this is the man you love?" he asked, his own voice hushed, disbelieving, confused. "A man who would reduce you to this?"

Sybil reached for him; his affectionate child. He didn't move from her hand on his arm, welcoming the tentative touch.

"You think my husband does what he does for himself? That he risks all for selfish reasons? You think he would not descend beneath this shame if he were called upon to do so? Or perhaps you believe he has been so well received by this family as to be grateful for all allowances?" Her frank words were at odds with the tenderness of her tone. "He has suffered greater humiliation than either you or I would ever be able to conceive. He fights for a better Ireland for his child. He fights for a better world for me. He knows the freedoms I long for, and has committed himself heart and soul and body to do all that he can to help me, to help our family, realize the possibility of a greater future. Papa, he has not reduced me, you have."

His eyes snapped to hers, a disbelieving, indignant rejoinder ready on his tongue, but the mournful look in her eyes gave him pause.

"I do not mean to hurt you," she continued. "I've never meant to hurt you. You still see me as the little girl you could entertain with stories from your travels then pat on the head and send back to the nursery. But I'm not that little girl anymore, and I haven't been for a very long time. I regret that who I am is so distasteful to you. I would give anything…" She swallowed hard, pressing her lips together to stem the tears, "to have you look upon me as a child you could be proud of, as a daughter you could love for who I am, not who I was. I would give anything—anything but him."

The line had been drawn.

Robert Crawley had been expected to be disappointed when his third child had been presented to him; another girl. The chances of an heir being produced were dwindling each year, and here was another daughter. More dresses to be provided, another dowry to be promised, another season to be paid for; she was just another doll to be dressed. And yet the Earl of Grantham had been enamored with the tiny baby, completely caught off guard by the immediate depth of his feelings of love and affection for the fragile creature. He'd been angered by his mother's disappointment, by her easy dismissal.

"_Such a shame. And such a beautiful baby too. Cora is still young. We shall look towards the next one."_

In that moment Robert Crawley had sworn his daughter would never feel as if she wasn't wanted, wasn't important, wasn't loved. And as the years had gone by he'd delighted in her independent spirit, in her strength, in her refusal to ever give up, in her compassion.

Now she stood before him, as a woman still possessing such qualities and he felt at a loss. As a little girl he could protect her, guide her as she grew, but as a woman it seemed she had no need of him.

It was not to him her eyes sought.

If he cast her husband off, he knew he would lose his Sybil forever. And what of the child she carried? Could he deny his grandchild a father? Leave the baby with no more than a broken hearted mother?

"I'll go to London tomorrow," he offered, exhaling. "I'll telephone Murray and ask him to arrange an interview. I won't come home until I've seen Short."

Sybil's tenuous hold finally gave, her tears falling silently down her cheeks and Robert reached for her, taking his child in his arms one more time, offering what ease an uncertain father could.

"Mary, Edith" Cora spoke, "Take Sybil upstairs, I'll have Mrs. Hughes bring up a tray, then make sure she rests."

The two elder sisters stood, guiding an exhausted Sybil out of the library.

"Thank you Mama, Papa," Sybil said before allowing herself to be led away.

Cora stood, walking to her husband. "Thank you. I know it's right."

Robert stiffened. "I want to make it quite clear that whatever I do, I am doing it for Sybil, and not for him."

Cora nodded.

"Though I can't promise anything," he continued. "I'm afraid Sybil's right. Things aren't exactly well managed over there. If they have arrested him I'm not sure what I'll be able to do."

Matthew also stood. "Do you believe Short will know anything about him?"

"I suppose it depends on how involved Tom has been with the republicans, but if we've any chance of finding him it will be through his office. He will at least know where I should begin looking," Robert said.

"Where _we _should begin looking," Matthew added. "You have my services. I will do whatever I can to help."

Robert's appreciative smile didn't quite reach his eyes. He felt tired, the gambit of emotions leaving his body weak. "You know, other men have normal families with sons-in-law who farm or preach or serve their country in the army."

The Dowager Countess, who had been surprisingly silent throughout the evening, shook her head. "Maybe they do, but no family is ever what it seems from the outside. And besides, other men lack an important component."

Robert raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What's that?"

Violet Crawley smiled. "Well, Sybil, of course."

_**thank you for reading!**_

**I just want to say that I'm not an expert on Irish history, I am trying to be as correct as a lay researcher can be, but if I've made some glaring mistakes please let me know! *nervous laugh*  
**


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